Ten Seconds
by LadyReivin
Summary: "There are rules to surviving on the streets, rules that can't be bent and are best not to be forgotten...there are different terms for 'streets'. In this case, it's not to be homeless; it is to be a racer. A street racer."-Tom and Bill Kaulitz story twc


**Title:** Ten Seconds  
><strong>Author:<strong> LadyReivin  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Tokio Hotel  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Tom/Bill, twincest  
><strong>Beta:<strong> The Lovely Sam – my creative friend.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Summary:<strong> "There are rules to surviving on the streets, rules that can't be bent and are best not to be forgotten. You live by these rules and most times you'll come out victorious – but not always. Then, there are different terms for 'streets'. In this case, it's not to be homeless; it is to be a racer. A street racer."  
><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Crossposted from fiction. tokiohotelfiction .com under the same username. Banner can be seen at: http: / / reivin17. deviantart .com /art/Ten-Seconds-TH-fic-banner-193905708 (minus spaces, of course)

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><p>There are rules to surviving on the streets, rules that can't be bent and are best not to be forgotten. You live by these rules and most times you'll come out victorious – but not always. Then, there are different terms for 'streets'. In this case, it's not to be homeless; it is to be a racer. A street racer.<p>

The rhythmic beat of music of all kinds could be felt in his bones the moment he pulled onto the street. Cars and people milled all around, stepping to the side as his black Audi R8 edged in amongst them, the engine purring kindly underneath the red decaled hood. Biting his plush lower lip, Bill Kaulitz grasped the shifter and slid it down and to the right, putting the car into reverse, before he nudged it into a slot between a decked out, orange, Volkswagen Touran and a red, low riding Chevrolet truck.

Taking a moment to gather himself and steal his nerves, Bill opened the door and stepped one heeled, leather booted foot out. Grasping the door with a perfectly manicured hand, he pulled himself out of the car. Closing it after him, he stepped around to the front of the hood, honey brown eyes scanning the crowds in front of him, taking in everything. The scent of cars, cheap perfume, and burnt rubber. The colours of custom undercar lights, decals, and exhaust flames lit up the dark street, adding to the chaos caused by music. The Touran next to him was blasting "Rollin'" by Limp Biskit from it's custom speakers, while an SUV two cars to the otherside had "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor playing. He could pick up bits and pieces of other songs as well, some in other languages.

Just as Bill had worked up the courage to step away from his car and mingle, search out details on the race, a group of cars entered the street, catching everyone's attention. At the head of the four was a red Dodge Viper GTS RC3 sporting black decals. The car stopped a little further up the street from his own. He watched it, licking his lower lip as it came to a stop. In the back of his mind he compared the aesthetic similarities between the American car and his own German one. Seeing the car gave him the strength to do just what he had come to do. He pushed off his car, ignored the Hispanic male that was checking out his ride – and him – and made his way toward the group of people – mostly females – crowding around the Viper.

He stopped amongst the people as the door to the red car opened and a black, cornrowed head appeared. Nervously playing with his tongue ring, Bill watched as the driver stood. He wore a white shirt, too big, with a shiny black logo on it. Over that a black zip up hoody, black pants, and immaculate white sneakers. A white and black bandana finished off the ensemble.

As Bill stepped forward – along with about twenty other females – his sharp eyes took in the black earrings and a simple, black piercing in the man's lower lip. The man had sharp, honey brown eyes, a tanned complexion, a strong jaw, high, sculpted cheekbones, and a straight nose. All in all, he could be considered quiet handsome. The first words out of his mouth ruined that illusion though.

"Well, well, well, look at all these fine ladies." He said, his voice low and smooth as his eyes wandered over all the barely clothed bodies that instantly swarmed to him.

Bill didn't pay any mind as the drivers of the other three cars got out, swarmed by a mob of people as well. His attention was completely on the man before him. Lifting one hand, Bill ran it through his black and white dreads, flicking them off one shoulder before he stepped forward, twisting his thin body this way and that to get through the scantily clad women around him.

A smirk twisted his glossed lips as he stepped up to the racer. Bill tipped his head back, sniffing at the air.

"I smell," he drawled, his German accent carefully hidden, "skanks."

The comment earned him quite a few glares from said skanks, but Bill could care less. His eyes were focused on the dark haired man before him who had one arm wrapped around a leather-clad blond.

"How much to race?" Bill asked, not pussyfooting around as to why he was there.

There was a moment of silence before the man before him, along with many others burst out laughing. The man before him stood up a little straighter and let his eyes slowly trial over Bill's body, taking in the shiny, heeled boots, skin tight black pants, tight white tank top, and the loose fitting black one over, falling off one shoulder. Bill could just feel the lewd thoughts of the man sticking to his skin, making him want to shower and get the disgusting crawling feeling off him.

"This ain't no little girls race," the man drawled, his voice deep and thick with an accent. "Why don't you run back home to your sugar daddy now and leaving the racing to the big boys."

Following the man's words were guffaws and shouts of agreement from the crowds around them, most lost in the maelstrom of music, engines, and city life. Bill ignored them though, his eyes narrowed as the man before him high-fived someone as they said, "You tell her, Tom!".

Challenge. That is what Bill needed to give the man – Tom – challenge that he wouldn't back down from. Question his abilities, his car, his very soul.

"Scared you'll loose?"

Once again the area was silent of voices. Several sharp intakes were heard as Tom turned his head slowly to look back at Bill. His face twisted slightly before a confident smirk over took him.

"Pinks." He drawled.

"Quarter mile?"

"Ja."

"You're on."

Bill favored Tom with a smirk before he turned, his hair flipping behind him and disappeared into the crowds, heading for his car. He could hear the whispers of people asking who 'she' is and ignored them. Who he was, unimportant at the moment. What matters were him, his car, Tom, and Tom's car. Those and a quarter mile stretch of asphalt.

Sliding behind the wheel of his car, Bill pushed the key into the ignition and started the Audi with a roar. Wrapping his manicured hand around the shifter, he settled into his seat, getting a feel for the leather and the warm smell before he slid her into gear and pulled out amongst the people.

It was like seeing the Red Sea parting for Moses as the crowds quickly moved out of his way, allowing him to nose his Audi up beside the red Dodge that waited for him at the starting line. He couldn't help but glance out his window toward the other driver, taking in his appearance. Everything zoned out—the sounds people talking and screaming, car engines revving, music blasting, it was all gone—all he could see was the other racer's profile and all he could hear was his own pulse pounding in his ears. A Straight nose, well defined cheekbones, soft honey-brown eyes, full lower lip with a bolt through it, and a strong jaw. The racer—Tom—had golden skin that looked soft to the touch and hair as black as a raven's wing, and just as shiny. All of it captivated Bill, drawing him in, making him loose who he was and all thoughts of were he was.

All of it came flooding back as the scantly dressed woman standing before their cars dropped her bra to the ground. The red Viper shot forward immediately, not held back by a distraction such as Bill had been experiencing. Gathering his bearings as fast as he could, he floored the peddle, sliding the car into first as he shot off behind Tom, shifting rapidly to make up for his compromised start.

During the time since he'd been pulled back into his own mind, everything had been narrowed down to his car and Tom's car. Pushing in the clutch, shifting the gears, it was all coming to him with long practiced ease.

As the quarter mile came closer and closer to an end, his manicured thumb hovered over the red button on his steering wheel that controlled the NOS intake. He was saving it until the very end to give him that last boost to send him flying over the finish line and in front of the other racer.

A smirk slid onto his painted lips as he saw Tom's Viper shoot ahead even further. Too soon. Tom had injected his own nitrous oxide mixture into his engine too soon, giving Bill just what he needed to win.

Shifting the car one more time, he kept his foot pressed down on the throttle. The timing had to be perfect. Almost. Close. There's the spot. Slamming his finger onto the button, he felt himself forced down into his leather car seat as his car shot forward faster, pushing 160 mph.

And it was just enough. He nosed in front of Tom and crossed the line, pulling the win he'd wanted. Tom's Viper was his. Along with he reputation of beating the one street racer in Los Angeles that hadn't been beaten.

Easing off the gas, he down shifted into an easy stop, pulling the car up amongst all the spectators of their race. He had a wide, smug smile as he stepped out of the car, his dreads hanging around his face.

The Viper pulled up beside him, the door being thrown open. Bill leaned his hip against the side of his car, watching as Tom stepped own of his car. Tom pointed at him with a calloused hand, his eyes narrowing on Bill.

"I had you! That was by a fluke of luck. I almost had you."

Bill only tilted his head to the side, smiling sickly sweet at Tom before he replied, voice pitched low.

"Ask any racer, any real racer. It doesn't matter if you win by an inch or a mile; winning's winning."

The statement did nothing save for piss the other racer off further. Tom scowled at him before he got back in his car and revved the engine before throwing the it into reverse. Heedless of the people around him, he backed away expertly before pulling a U-Turn and disappearing in a trail of red lights.

Bill turned to the people pressing in around him, a practiced smile on his face. He waved to them slightly. "If you all will excuse me, I have a car to collect." He said, earning some laughs, before he slid elegantly back into his car.

Unlike the angry driving of the other racer, he drove at a sedated pace, winding his way through the streets of Los Angeles as if he'd lived there his whole life. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to him, he pulled up at the waterfront. Pale beach, dark angry ocean, swirling foam, and a bright moon greeted him as he stopped the car in a nearly empty parking lot. Two spaces over from his own car sat the red Dodge Viper GTS RC3 that he'd raced an hour before. He was sure that if he touched the hood of the car it would be cold, long cool.

Damp, salty air hit him straight in the face as he stepped out of the car. A wind was coming off the ocean, blowing his hair—that was dreaded—back from his face. His attention wasn't on the ocean or the moon though. It was on the other street racer that leaned against the side of the red car.

Unlike the last time Bill had seen him, Tom looked more composed now. His face calm and collected, his shoulders slumped in in an almost natural pose to the other man, while his gloved hands were hidden in the large pockets of his baggy jean pants.

"Hey."

The voice was as deep as earlier. Heavily accented and sending pleasant shivers down Bill's spine.

"Hey to you too," Bill replied as he began to walk toward the other racer, a smile slowly tugging at his lips.

Tom pushed off his car, moving away from it. "Didn't know you were out."

"Wanted to surprise you."

That got a reaction. A quirk appeared at the corner of Tom's lips. "I like the surprise."

Bill smiled brightly at that, coming to stop right in front of Tom. "Good," he purred, "because it's not over yet, Tomi." He shifted the last little bit closer and looped his thin arms around the other man's broad shoulders.

"Oh?" Tom's hands came up to cup Bill's hipbones. "Is that right, little brother?"

Bill only nodded before he leaned up, catching Tom's lips in a kiss. Tom's lips were warm and soft, the same as they had been before. After so long, the feel them, the weight of Tom's strong hands bracketing his hips, pulling him closer, dragged a low, needy moan from the thinner male.

Tom was the first to pull away, leaving his forehead pressed against Bill's own. "How'd you get out so soon?" He asked, his voice a whisper, as if he were afraid that if he spoke too loud he would shatter the illusion of Bill before him.

"Good behavior." Bill replied, nuzzling close to his brother.

"Mm…glad to have you back, Mäuschen. It hasn't been the same since you were sent to jail." Tom murmured, kissing the tip of Bill's nose before kissing his lips.

Bill nodded at that, sighing as his eyes slid shut. "I know. It's been the same for me. I came as soon as I could. But…I'm not truly alive when I'm not with you. When I'm by myself, I live my life a quarter mile at a time. Nothing else matters: not the mortgage, not the store, not my team and their bullshit. For those ten seconds or less, I'm free. Racing has been all I've had. But now we're back together, as we should be."

"Yes. And for good, right?" Tom asked, pulling back to look at Bill in the moonlight. "You've given up your old team and robbing the semi-trucks, right? I don't want to lose you again, Bill. I can't…"

Bill shook his head and leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on Tom's warm lips. "Für immer, Tomi, für immer."

And with that, Bill caught his brother's lips with his own once again, pressing close as he lost himself once again in the other racer, the other man, his older twin brother. His Tomi. His everything.


End file.
